


The King of Her Heart

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anora Critical, F/M, conversations with a monarchist, fluffy bits too, if I need to tag for that, like half a paragraph is all but still, scenes that wouldn't leave me tf alone, there's always fluffy bits with these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 03:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15810216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Timeline flexible, any time between Redcliffe Castle and the Landsmeet. Storyline places this somewhere after Love, Reign O'er Me.I'm just trying to write porn but no, these two have to keep talking to each other in my head. This time it's about the crown.





	The King of Her Heart

“What do you think about my being king?” 

 

His voice is low and hesitant in her ear, not just tent quiet but also a tone that says he doesn’t want to be asking but can no longer hold the question. 

 

“Do you want to take a walk, so we don’t wake the camp?” 

 

He holds her tighter against him, laughing as he bites her earlobe. “Which one of us is going to be yelling?” 

 

“Considering your thoughts on the subject, I’ll guess you, but you know as well as I that at least one of us will start crying at some point.” 

 

“Well, I can’t argue with that.” 

 

 

 

He gives her all the time she needs to find her words, and she can only hope he’s had enough time to steel himself for them. She wishes she could find an easy way to start, or even a funny one, but it’s not her place to joke about it yet. She stops walking and waits for him to come to her. 

 

“No matter what happens, no matter what you choose, I will support you, in every way I can. I think you already know that, but I need to make sure. I love you, whether you’re warden or king.” 

 

“But you think I should be king.” 

 

“I was raised by die-hard monarchists, who both thought the sun rises and sets on the Theirins. They raised me with that. I grew up knowing the only thing that ranked as high as my father’s pride in me was being at your father’s coronation and knowing he helped make it happen. Not that they helped take back our country from Orlais, but that he and my mother helped restore a Theirin to the throne.” 

 

She wants to pace, already feeling the tension of the conversation. Instead she takes his hands, holding them so she can rub her thumbs over his palms. “I didn’t say this when you asked because the night was already too heavy and didn’t need more potential turmoil, but nothing would have made my father happier than knowing I’m with Maric’s son.”  

 

She falls silent, hoping he’s ready to say something. He is, maybe, but she quickly figures out he won’t. He knows there’s something else she needs to say first. 

 

“Nothing I could do would make him prouder than to follow in his footsteps and help restore a Theirin to the throne. But as much as I love him and know he would expect nothing less from either of us, I’m still going to back you, whatever you choose, because I love you more. I will not argue the case of why you should.” 

 

“What if I command you to?” There’s no mistaking the humor in his voice, but that’s only for her, not the subject itself. 

 

“Smirk all you want, Your Majesty. You know damn good and well I already have my points lined up and ready to go. And that you’ll have to stuff something in my mouth to make me shut up about it.” 

 

He puts his hand in her hair, rougher than usual. She doesn’t know if he means it or is even aware of it. The answer comes when he pushes down on her head, his command to kneel unmistakable. Neither one has made any real reference to what happened their last night at Redcliffe Castle, but it’s not left them, becoming part of their tapestry whether they mean for it to or not. 

 

She kneels easily. Proudly, even, because she is a Cousland and truly believes him to be her rightful king even if he doesn’t. She was raised to do no less. 

 

“Speak your piece, love.” 

 

“And here I thought you were going to stuff something in my mouth.” 

 

He laughs and steps up to press his erection against her face. The impulse to reach up and take what she wants is so strong she has to slip her hands under her butt, sit on them to make herself be still. 

 

“Maybe. If you ask nicely. After you tell me why I should be king.” 

 

She pulls her head back just enough for her voice to carry up to him. “Because you already are, just as your father was long before his coronation. Courts don’t make kings, not in Ferelden. Blood is what counts.” 

 

“Tell me the truth, little monarchist. Will you be disappointed in me if I refuse?” 

 

She pulls back more, needing to see his expression better. Needing to make sure he can see the truth in her eyes. “No. Not unless your only reason is fear you aren’t good enough. And even then, I won’t be disappointed. Just. I don’t know. Sad, maybe. If you don’t want it, don’t do it, and I will back your decision every way I can. If you’re just scared you’ll fail, I promise you won’t.” 

 

“Tell me one reason I would be a better choice than Anora. One that doesn’t boil down to the blood in my veins.” 

 

“Nobility isn’t what’s in your blood, any more than being common. It’s what’s in your heart, in your behavior. Being born into a title, into a noble family, doesn’t mean anything except you’d better hold yourself to a higher standard and earn that damn title. To be worthy of it means you appreciate it and share your blessings with those less fortunate.  You were raised to believe you are nothing, worthless as a cast-off cur, yet no matter how the world treats you, you still rise to the highest, most noble behavior possible. Every single time, no matter what the outcome for you. Anora was raised to believe she is entitled to nobility simply because her father led an army and your father cared too much for him. I will bet my life that when push comes to shove, she will prove herself to be as common and ignoble as her father. Bloodline makes a monarch. Nobility makes a worthy one. You have both in spades. She has neither.” 

 

“Wow. Savage.” 

 

There’s no mistaking the surprise behind his humor. Is it for having her points laid out or her disdain for Anora? “You expected less?” 

 

He squats down and cups her face, his thumb stroking her lips. Neither one of them can ever keep their hands off the other’s mouth. “No.” He gently pushes his thumb in, letting her suck it while he finds the words.  

 

She could sit like this forever, she thinks. Nothing more than this and she would be grateful every day of her life for it, for the feel of his hand on her skin and the heat from his eyes. 

 

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about the future, about after, and I’m not asking for anything more than information. I just don’t want to make a decision like this without having all the facts.” He pulls his thumb out and goes back to stroking her lips. “Do you want to be queen?” 

 

“If you’re asking if it would be my first choice for what comes after for us, no. That would be you and I running off to live in the woods and spend the rest of our days tangled in the bedsheets and seeing who can make the other laugh harder. No damned responsibilities because of the families we were born into or the nasty punch we drank.” 

 

“You think it’s our responsibility?” 

 

That makes her snort, hard enough to hurt and get them both laughing. “I know it is, and as much as I want to be mad about it, I can’t. You weren’t raised for this, but I was. Duty to Ferelden, fealty to the Theirins, above all.” 

 

“I do like the idea of making you queen. That seems a gift worthy for what you’ve given me.” 

 

She starts crying at that, at the love she still can’t believe she’s been blessed enough to find. She can’t help but laugh, too, and that somehow makes the tears come faster. “We should have made a bet on who would start crying first.” 

 

He laughs against her skin as he kisses her tears, his lips feather soft and making her heart beat faster.  

 

“Don’t choose it for me. Please. Don’t give in to something you hate just because you want to make me happy because it won’t. I don’t care if it is our responsibility, if my father would be disappointed, if Ferelden falls off the face of the world. All I want is what makes you happy. Whatever you choose, I’ll stand proudly by your side, if you want me to.” 

 

He keeps kissing, giving that low, warm chuckle that she can never decide if she feels more in her heart or down lower. “I don’t intend to let you get away.”  


End file.
